


been in love with every version of you (but this time, it's for keeps)

by amaanogawa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaanogawa/pseuds/amaanogawa
Summary: "Over a decade ago Kuroo Tetsurou had broken his heart seemingly beyond repair, smashed it into a million tiny pieces that Daichi only just managed to clumsily bind together again with nothing more than bleeding scar tissue and craft glue made of tenacity. He isn’t that kid anymore, the one that woke up with a belly full of hopes only to find a cold, empty house and a missing best friend who never returned.(Who never returned until he did, Daichi supposes, but he didn’t. Not really.)"ORa story of love, loss, and coming back together again despite all odds, with eyes wide open every single time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crocustongues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocustongues/gifts).



> all my love to [andy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelabours), who graciously agreed to be my beta after i barged through their front door yelling incoherently about whatever... _this_ turned out to be.

Few people are lucky enough to be born into this world with their best friend by their side.

It’s a privilege that Sawamura Daichi, even at the tender age of 6 and a half, has never taken for granted. After all, his own best friend had to wait a whole month and 14 days to meet him, which might as well be an entire lifetime to a child of their age. Although, Daichi supposes, at the time his best friend had been a baby and babies can’t push each other on the swing set in the playground by their houses, or even go exploring in the forests down the road so there really isn’t much of a point anyway. But for him, who has never known a world that didn’t have his best friend in it, just thinking about the whole month and 14 days that _his_ best friend didn’t have him by his side is enough to make Daichi feel a little lonely.

It doesn’t matter anymore though. Daichi is here now, and he’s here to stay. Small pebbles crunch underneath his sneakers as he walks down the road towards the playground, swinging a stray stick he had picked up somewhere along the way. He can see his best friend’s hair appear over the edge of the fence before anything else, and as soon as he sees the telltale landmark he’s taking off in a run to where the lone figure is crouched over, absentmindedly drawing abstract shapes in the sand with his finger.

“Tekkun!” Daichi waves his stick, grinning wide, and the boy in the sandpit lifts his head in response.

“Daicchan,” Tetsurou offers a small smile, wiggling his fingers in greeting. “That’s a cool stick, where did you find it?”

“Thanks! I found it on the road just outside my house—it looks kinda like a sword, right? Wanna go back and see if we can find you one, too?”

Tetsurou nods shyly and Daichi smiles, offering his hand out for Tetsurou to take.

They are Daichi and Tetsurou, neighbours, best friends, and partners in crime. Their parents were newly wed couples who had moved into the houses next to each other, so the fact that their children who were born in the same year would grow up together seemed to be a given. What they hadn’t expected was how easily the two children would fit together—how it would seem like they were two parts of a whole more than anything, rather than two separate individuals.

In every aspect, they were somehow both opposite and complementary to each other at the same time. Tetsurou was thin and wiry, with eyes like sunshine and a shy demeanour that had him tripping over his words whenever he spoke. Daichi was short, squat and had eyes like dark chocolate, a child more down to earth than most his age. He was never afraid to stand up for what he believed in and as it turns out, what he believed in with a fierce loyalty was his best friend. Consequently, most of his days were spent chasing bullies or even large dogs away from a tearful Tetsurou.

They may have been complete opposites, but just as rare metals are forged in the earth, Tetsurou and Daichi were two elements that built each other up as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I think I need to stay over at your house again,” Tetsurou says after a while, face downcast as they stroll hand in hand down the road. “My dad said he’ll call your mom to let her know.”

“Oh.” Sleepovers are fun. They like to build forts out of pillows and blankets and gather an abundance of flashlights to illuminate the inside, pretending like they were astronauts traveling into deep space to explore undiscovered planets. But Daichi knew that when Tetsurou _needs_ rather than chooses to stay over at the Sawamuras’ it never meant good things. “How is auntie doing?”

Tetsurou shrugs, his shoulders slouching as they come down like they carry a heavy weight. “I think she had another fever last night.”

Even as children they understood that Tetsurou’s mother’s sickness was not like the ones that gave you runny noses and sore throats. Tetsurou doesn’t ever say much about it, but sometimes when curiosity got the better of Daichi he would sneak to the top of the staircase after his bedtime and he can hear his own parents clicking their tongues, whispering _poor thing_ from the living room downstairs. He knows they are talking about Tetsurou’s mother.

“Don’t worry,” Daichi says, trying to sound confident though he isn’t at all sure that Tetsurou shouldn’t be worried. “I get fevers sometimes too. They go away if you eat the bitter red syrup. I’m sure uncle bought some for her.”

“Yea,” Tetsurou responds, sniffling lightly, and Daichi squeezes Tetsurou’s hand reassuringly.

They spend the rest of the day thrusting their stick-swords at invisible monsters, two knights bravely shouldering the fate of the earth on their backs. In their pretend world they can vanquish anything in their path so long as they were together, whether it be math homework or household chores or even mysterious illnesses that they were by all means too young to fully understand.

As long as they were together, just like this, hand in hand taking on the world together, they would be alright.

There was no reason to think anything would ever change.

 

\---

 

Their second school term begins early September and class rosters remain the same, which means Tetsurou and Daichi get to stay together. Their new seating arrangements are decided by random lottery however, which places them across the room from each other but even so they manage to communicate during class time just by way of hand signals, facial expressions and simple familiarity.

Raising their brows with a slight tilt of their head meant _wanna come over after school?_

Sticking their tongues out with their eyes squeezed shut meant _math is really boring and the teacher totally spits when he talks, gross!_

A discreet hand pointing to their backpacks with sly grins meant _trade you a piece of omelet for your tempura shrimp at lunch?_ To which the other would almost certainly shake their head in contempt, because _who in their right mind would trade tempura for omelet? Duuuummy._

It is three weeks into the school term when their gym teacher shows them how to play volleyball.

The game seems easy at first because the rule is to not let the ball touch the ground and he and Tetsurou play this game often enough with balloons—but Daichi soon learns that balloons and volleyballs are not at all the same. The ball comes flying towards him with a speed that a balloon could never achieve and smacks into his forearms painfully before ricocheting all the way across the gymnasium.

“Nice try, Sawamura-kun!” The teacher calls. “Think about where you want the ball to go and position your arms accordingly! Next, Kuroo-kun!”

Tetsurou looks nervous as he takes his position in front of the net, but when the teacher tosses the ball at him it hits his arms with a different sound than it did Daichi’s, flying up gracefully right back into their teacher’s hands.

“Very good, Kuroo-kun! That was a perfect receive!” Their teacher praises, and Tetsurou’s eyes are beaming with pride as he turns to join Daichi on the sidelines.

Sometimes during class when Tetsurou stumbles over readings the other children snicker at him behind his back and call him _chicken boy,_ but it’s not because of the way his hair sticks up like one would think. If it were only for that reason Daichi might agree with them because on his worst hair days Tetsurou really does kind of look like a chicken, but Daichi’s dad says chickens are descendants of dinosaurs and that means Tetsurou’s hair makes him a dinosaur, which Daichi thinks is really cool. However the other kids mean _chicken boy_ in the way that insinuates Tetsurou is cowardly or lame—and this Daichi doesn’t understand whatsoever.

In his eyes Tetsurou is the opposite of uncool. He’s super smart and really kind, too; he always gives Daichi the big half of the pork bun when they pool their allowance together to buy one from the foothill store. Even if he can’t read the textbook passage out loud smoothly, he can read twice as fast as anyone in their class if he does it in his head. But Daichi is the only one who knows this, because Tetsurou is humble too, on top of funny and imaginative and _brave_ , despite what anyone thinks.

Today, the Tetsurou that stands with his chest puffed out in pride as the only student that successfully maneuvers a _perfect receive_ is the coolest Daichi has ever seen, and quietly he runs his fingers over the reddened skin of his forearms, wondering what he can do to be more like Tetsurou someday. After that Daichi’s parents buy him a volleyball of his very own and the pair practice bumping and volleying in Daichi’s front yard every single day. Eventually they learn how to spike in gym class and they start to practice that, too, but it’s much harder than simply keeping the ball up in the air. Daichi immediately falls in love with volleyball, but rather than volleyball itself the truth is that he loves playing volleyball _with Tetsurou_ because Tetsurou smiles more and laughs more than he has since his mom first got sick, which makes Daichi happier than he knows how to express.

None of their spikes succeed until one finally does, and Daichi can’t help but think of the superhero cartoon they like to watch together when Tetsurou jumps up so high he blocks out the sun and his hand comes in contact with the ball, smacking it hard to the ground with a deafening impact. Again, Daichi dazedly wonders what version of Tetsurou the other kids are seeing, that they have the audacity to call him lame when in reality he is the most amazing person Daichi knows.

“Did you see that?” Tetsurou yells, eyes wide in awe, holding up his reddening palm for Daichi to see. “Daicchan did you see? I hit it! I hit it!”

In the back of his mind, Daichi decides that it’s okay if none of the other kids see Tetsurou for what he’s really worth, anyway. It only matters that Daichi knows, as surely as a six year old child can be about any objective truth in this life, that his best friend is no less than a force of nature—that just as rainfall can turn from a light drizzle to an all-consuming hurricane in a single breath, Tetsurou undergoes the same transformation from a shy boy stumbling over his words to an entity that is capable of blocking out the sun itself.

 

\---

 

“Why are you two always together, anyway? It’s _weird_.”

The question is spat at Tetsurou and Daichi after school one day, by a fellow classmate that neither of them really like all that much. To this, they turn to each other with quizzical expressions, shrugging apathetically after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?” Daichi asks, brow raised in confusion. He has never really considered _why_ he and Tetsurou are together; they have been since the moment they both existed in this world and it seemed only natural to assume that they would be from now on, too. Asking Daichi why he and Tetsurou are together is like asking him why he breathes, or why he eats. A pointless question to even ponder the answer for.

“We’re best friends. And neighbours,” Tetsurou supplies meekly, fingers clinging to the edge of Daichi’s shirt sleeve. “We’ve been together since forever ago.”

“We’ll be together forever into the future, too!” Daichi grins, reaching up to take Tetsurou’s hand in his own. “Duh!”

“You _can’t_ be together forever, stuuupid,” the boy, Ryuuji, taunts, rolling his eyes like it should be obvious. “Only _married_ couples stay together forever.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh yea? Well then why are all the people who live happily ever after in storybooks married?”

A silence falls over them as Tetsurou and Daichi consider this new bit of information, index finger and thumb pinching their chins, deep in thought. This is as much a simple fact as it is an earth shattering realization that they had never considered before.

“We’ll just have to get married then,” Tetsurou says finally, jaw set in determination. “Right, Daicchan?”

“Right, Tekkun! We’ll just get married then!”

Though he says it with confidence, Daichi doesn’t really know what being married entails; his parents don’t do anything all that special, to his knowledge at least. They make food together, go shopping together, and sometimes when a nice song comes on the radio his dad takes his mom’s hand and twirls her around in the kitchen while she laughs and laughs. He could do those things with Tetsurou, no problem. Maybe not the cooking just yet, because even though he’s started helping with preparing dinner it’s mostly just snapping the ends off of green beans because his mom says knives are too dangerous for children, but there are foods that can be made without cutting things up, right?

“Only adults can get married!” Ryuuji objects, planting his hands on his hips in exasperation, to which Daichi sticks out his tongue angrily and turns to stalk away, dragging Tetsurou with him.

“Whatever! You’re not invited to our wedding!” Daichi hollers, cheeks puffed out in an infuriated pout before eventually coming to a stop once they’re out of sight. There he deflates, letting go of Tetsurou’s wrist in defeat.

“What’s wrong, Daicchan?” Tetsurou asks quietly, brows drawn together in concern.

“…what if he’s right? What if we can’t stay together forever?”

“Of course we can. We’ll just get married, like we said.”

“Yea but,” Daichi sniffles, the mere thought of having to separate from Tetsurou creating a scratchy lump in his throat. “I don’t know _how_ to get married. And Ryuuji-kun says only adults can do it.”

“My dad showed me a video of when he and my mom got married,” Tetsurou says reassuringly. “It looked easy enough. You just have to dress up fancy, give each other rings, and then kiss each other on the mouth.”

Daichi blinks, the first tear rolling down his cheek. “Kiss?”

“Yea. My mom and dad kiss on the mouth every day. I think it’s like a seal, you know, like when you get a package in the mail and you need to give the mailman the stamp?”

“Uh huh…”

“So it’s like that, you kiss to seal the deal.”

“My mom and dad kiss every day too,” Daichi whispers in realization, eyes widening. “But where are we going to get rings?”

Tetsurou grins, reaching over to wipe at Daichi’s tears with his sleeve. “I know a place. So don’t cry, Daicchan. Just leave it to me, okay?”

He takes Daichi’s hand in his own, leading the way down the road without another word, and Daichi follows dumbly while thinking vaguely to himself that Tetsurou’s back looks larger and more grown up somehow with the way the setting sun casts shadows across his shoulders. They end up at the foothill store, specifically the old gachapon machines out front where Tetsurou inserts his change one by one into the coin slot and turns the knob. A large, plastic ball plunks out the bottom and Tetsurou reaches for it, cracking it open to reveal a big, glittery neon pink ring nestled inside.

“See? Easy.” Tetsurou grins. “Do you have another 100 yen? We need two.”

And that’s how they end up hidden away under the slide at their playground, secrecy blowing in the wind like a whisper, both of them staring at the other with deathly serious expressions.

“So we can’t actually get married until we’re adults,” Tetsurou explains, holding the rings, one pink and one green, out on his palm. “What we’re doing now is called ‘engagement’. It’s like a promise to get married once we grow up.”

“Is that allowed?” Daichi asks, reaching out to pluck the green ring from Tetsurou’s hand.

“Mmhm, my mom and dad told me they were in ‘engagement’ for three years before they got married for real. We’re going to be a lot longer than that but that’s okay, I don’t think there’s any rule about how long you’re allowed to be in ‘engagement’ for.”

“Wow, you’re really smart Tekkun.”

“It’s just what my mom and dad told me,” Tetsurou shrugs, his cheeks reddening at the compliment, and he looks up with determined eyes. “Give me your hand.”

Placing his hand in Tetsurou’s, Daichi can’t help but feel a little excited at their secret promise. The ring is too large for him but he pinches it tight between his other fingers to hold it in place after Tetsurou slides it on, and then he does the same for Tetsurou.

“You have to say ‘I do’ now.”

“Why?”

“They’re the magic words, silly.”

“Oh. I do,” Daichi whispers, clasping Tetsurou’s hand tightly in his own as if making a wish on a shooting star. He doesn’t know what marriage is really all about, but he wholeheartedly accepts that there’s bound to be a little magic involved to have the power of keeping two people together forever, happily ever after. So he holds on tight and makes a wish to the gods of marriage that he may keep Tetsurou by his side until they’re super old and wrinkly, just like his grandma and grandpa. If possible, even longer than that.

“I do,” Tetsurou repeats, before looking up with big eyes. “Now we seal the deal.”

They lean in at the same time, eyes squeezed shut, until their mouths bump together.

“So is that it?” Daichi asks once they pull back, looking around in disbelief to check if the world had somehow changed around them without their knowing. “We’re in ‘engagement’ now?”

“I think so.” Tetsurou’s grin spreads from ear to ear. “Now we can get married when we grow up and then we can be together forever! It’s a promise, okay?”

“Yeah! We’ll always be together.” Daichi laughs in relief, wrapping his arms around his best friend and squeezing with all his might. “I promise.”

As they walk home hand in hand, swinging their arms between them humming the theme song of their favourite television show, Daichi is thinking about how it truly doesn’t matter what obstacles they need to overcome to stay by each other’s sides—they will always find a way through.

Even if they have to call upon the help of a little magic contained within some cheap plastic rings, stowed away safely in their pockets.

 

\---

 

The next morning Daichi wakes up to the shrill of his alarm as he always does, and it takes a moment of blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he remembers that he married his best friend yesterday. Or at least they _sealed the deal_ and made a promise on their rings that they will get married as soon as they become adults. Regardless, all that matters is that it is written in stone now; they can, _will_ , stay together for the rest of their days.

He skips to the washroom feeling like his chest might burst at the seams from happiness. Maybe later today he can ask his mom to teach him how to use a cooking knife. Just a small one, so that he can practice. And then someday he and Tetsurou can go shopping together, and cook together, and he’ll take Tetsurou’s hand and twirl him around to the music on the radio right in the middle of their very own kitchen.

They’ll have to kiss on the mouth every day too, but as his mom says, to be grown up means to have lots of responsibilities and if Daichi can remember to brush his teeth and do his homework every day, he’s positive he can remember to do something small like that.

After he gets changed, he heads downstairs and seats himself at their dinner table, humming a song and kicking his legs under the seat as he crunches through his toast. He feels kind of impatient, like he can’t wait to see Tetsurou today more so than other days for some reason. Maybe because now they have a big secret that only the two of them know, and it makes their friendship even more special than it already was.

Daichi’s mom says that every day, he should think about something to be grateful for. This morning, as he places his dirty dish in the sink and grabs his backpack before dashing out the door, he is grateful for Tetsurou.

But when he stumbles into the chilly late September wind, dark clouds looming over his head as if issuing a challenge to the sunshine he had just been containing inside his chest, Daichi realizes that the street in front of his house is empty.  

Tetsurou is always there waiting for him in the mornings before school. _Always_.

“Maybe he’s running late,” Daichi mumbles to himself, approaching the Kuroo household’s front door. His stomach turns and he suddenly feels kind of sick, like it’s trying to tell him that something isn’t quite right. Over the years the Kuroo household was always like a second home to him but today it looks grey and dark as he reaches out to press the doorbell with a shaky finger.

No one answers.

He presses the doorbell a second time, only to be greeted by an uncanny stillness from the abandoned house.

He never sees Tekkun again.


	2. Chapter 2

“-chi-san!”

“Huh?” Daichi jolts out of his stupor, eyes blinking in confusion before he looks up to realize that the usually chaotic gymnasium had gone silent. He must have been spacing out for quite some time because by the time he turns around, all of his teammates are stopped dead in their tracks, staring at him concernedly. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“You okay, Daichi? It’s unusual for you to space out like that.” Suga tilts his head, fingertips tensing on the volleyball in his hands as he spins it idly. “Do you not feel well?”

“...I’m fine. I guess I didn’t sleep well last night—I had this weird dream,” Daichi says, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly.

Rather than a dream, it was more like an old memory of days long past, of scraped knees and secret forts and a boy with luminescent golden eyes and an equally bright smile. Daichi used to dream about Tetsurou often, especially after he first disappeared, but as time went on the dreams slowly dwindled down to nothing—as did the sadness. At first, 6 year old Daichi had been inconsolable; he’d cried himself to sleep for months, refused to go to school, even stopped playing volleyball for a period of time. His parents had tried every line of communication they had with the Kuroos, all of which led to dead end, and eventually there was nothing left to do but to grow up. It has been over a decade now since Daichi last saw him and though sometimes he still wonders about the truth of what happened all those years ago, it mostly remains as a wisp of curiosity in the back of his mind rather than a pressing question.

But last night—that dream had been so _tangible_ , so realistic that Daichi really believed he was back there again, hidden underneath the slide promising his future to the boy he once called his best friend.

Even now, 12 years later, he accepts that the feelings he had for Tetsurou as a 6 year old child were not those of a typical friendship, no matter the age he’d been at the time. Even now he acknowledges the depth of the love he held for that boy once upon a time. Rarely, he’ll think about what could have been if Tetsurou really had been able to walk hand in hand with him into their future like they had promised.

Too much time has passed to be tormenting himself with thoughts like that. Tetsurou is gone, and Daichi knows this, even if it’s a truth that he wishes he never had to accept. He isn’t usually the type to get caught up in the past, but—

It’s true what they say, he supposes: you never really forget your first love.

“Anyway, sorry, what were you saying Nishinoya?”

Noya’s concerned gaze turns into a sly grin at Daichi’s question, as he turns to Tanaka to share a knowing look before speaking. “Daichi-san, Ryuu and I were wondering if you’ve ever kissed anyone before.”

Daichi blinks, and before he can stop himself he gives an amused chuckle and says, “well, yeah, I guess I have.”

What message could the universe possibly be trying to convey with these sudden reminders of a vanished boy from his past?

The gymnasium is returned to its usual chaotic state after Daichi’s admission, with most of his underclassmen, the rowdy ones that is—staring at him with stars in their eyes and mouths agape, yelling out incomprehensible questions each drowned out by the other. Suga looks utterly betrayed, with his hand to his chest in shocked offense.

“I _knew_ it!” Nishinoya declares, grinning wide. “Daichi-san, you’re the man! I’ll bet it was a super pretty girl, wasn’t it! I’d expect nothing less!”

Daichi laughs, raising his brows at Nishinoya’s misguided assumption. The memory of a mouth sticky with sour apple flavoured candy bumping lightly against his own flashes through his mind and he smiles fondly as he reminisces.

“Actually, it was a boy.”

The loud squawks of disbelief start up almost immediately as he had expected, but Daichi knows better than to give them the chance to get out of hand. He claps twice and summons his best captainly voice to restore order to the team.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough! Break time is over, it’s time to get back to practice! Line up!”

 

\---

 

“So as you all know, we’re having our first practice match with Nekoma tomorrow. I’ll expect you all to be ready by 9AM to greet them properly,” Ukai announces, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. “Rest up, and eat well tonight! We have to show those cats who still rules this trash heap!”

“Yes, coach!”

The team disperses, heading in separate ways to tidy up the gymnasium and making idle chatter amongst themselves. Daichi is staring into space, broom held loosely in his hands when he feels someone bump their hip into his, startling him for the second time today.

“Woah, that’s dangerous, Suga.” Daichi frowns, elbowing him lightly. “What is it?”

“I should be asking you that question. What’s up? You’ve been so out of it today.” Suga reaches up to touch the back of his hand to Daichi’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

Truthfully, Daichi would also like to know where his head has been lately, because he just can’t seem to stay focused no matter how hard he tries. He chalks it up to an off day and gives Suga a weary shrug. “Probably just lack of sleep.”

“Hm.” Suga looks down nonchalantly, pressing his lips into a line before he says casually, “so, first kiss, huh?”

“You could have just asked from the very beginning instead of leading into it like that, you know. You’re about as subtle as a trainwreck,” Daichi laughs, nudging him with the end of the broomstick. “It was a long time ago. It wasn’t even a kiss really—we were just kids bumping mouths.”

“And how is it that I’ve never heard about it before?” Suga narrows his eyes at Daichi. “I can’t believe I’m only finding out now that you had a childhood boyfriend. My own best friend, keeping secrets from me? I’m flabbergasted. And hurt. ”

“Well first of all we were _6 years old_. It wasn’t a secret, it’s just not something I think about often.”

“What happened to him?”

 _Isn’t that the million dollar question_ , Daichi thinks with a chuckle.

“I don’t know. He moved away suddenly, and I never knew why. Didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Suga’s eyes widen as he places his hand on Daichi’s shoulder, expression forlorn. “Daichi. That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

“Oh stop it, it was a long time ago. We were kids. Things at that age never really matter anyway,” Daichi says dismissively, waving his hand. Suga’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly before sighing, giving a light shrug and heading over to help Asahi take the net down to put away for the night.

Daichi returns to sweeping the floor, eyes glazed over again as his mind drifts off in thought. It was a long time ago. They had been so young. Things at that age never really matter, anyway. These statements were a mantra that he had been repeating to himself for over a decade, so many times that he’d almost started to believe them.

But when he thinks about Tetsurou’s face—his sunshine eyes lighting up the room above a bashful smile in all his rooster-headed glory, Daichi doesn’t even know if he ever truly will.

 

\---

 

He wakes up the next day feeling distinctly strange. An unidentifiable warning is swirling in his chest, like a gut instinct, but he has no idea what he is supposed to be on the lookout for. It’s likely that he’s just nervous for the practice match, but even then something doesn’t feel quite right. It sticks with him all morning as he gets ready, as he eats his breakfast and packs his lunch and sets out down the street he’s walked every morning for years now.

The shadow of a figure who used to be there waiting for him once upon a time is murky now, faded from lost memories and passing time.

Karasuno Sougou Sports Park stands pristine when it comes into view, larger and fancier by spades than their homely school gymnasium. The crows arrive one by one, and Daichi spends some time reviewing their roster, game tactics, strategies, and then when all is said and done he’s left with nothing to do but fidget nervously. It’s not a habit Daichi had ever picked up or shown before today. His mother would be disapproving, probably stare him down sternly and tell him that fidgeting is unbecoming of a proper young man.

He can’t help it. He feels _antsy_. Quite unlike himself, but vague enough that he couldn’t explain how even if he tried.

The bus carrying Nekoma’s team rounds the corner, finally, and Daichi breathes a sigh of relief when he notices it, motioning for his team to line up so that they can greet their opponents properly. Once he sets foot on the court, he’s sure it will calm him in a way nothing else can. No matter what turbulence was going on in his life at any point in time, whether it be exam stress, family quarrels, or mysterious vanishing childhood best friends, volleyball was the one failsafe way he could calm his mind. Anytime the roaring in his head got to be a little too much, a little too loud, he could escape to the gym and practice until his hands were numb to summon the courage to face a new day in the morning.

As the bus comes to a stop in front of them, this is where Daichi’s mind is—thinking about volleyball, and how much it has saved him. Volleyball was what ultimately helped him regain his balance after his best friend inexplicably disappeared from his life all those years ago, leaving him to face the world alone without so much as a reason or a goodbye. The sudden memory shoves its way into his mind and a surge of frustration bubbles up in Daichi’s chest because he just can’t understand what’s been going on with him recently. Why, after all this time, is Daichi thinking about him? Daichi has made his peace with what happened already, but that dream, that dream just—

The doors to the bus open and students clad in crimson red jerseys begin to file out one by one. Shaking himself out of his disorganized thoughts, Daichi forces himself to bring his attention to the present. Taking a moment to breathe, he steels himself, looks up, and immediately feels his heart drop onto the concrete right there at his feet.

His hair is the first thing Daichi sees, before all else.

A telltale landmark.

The boy who steps out from the bus is familiar and completely different all at once, long legs and broad shoulders and a face that has matured into undeniable handsomeness. But despite all of that, all of the sharp angles that Daichi doesn’t recognize, there are two things that jump out at him like snapshots from his past.

The mess of hair sticking up every which way, dark as ink and utterly untameable in spite of all efforts to manage it.

And the eyes that lie underneath it, piercing bright gold unlike anything Daichi has ever seen.

“Tekkun?” Daichi whispers, voice too low to be heard by anybody else, feeling vaguely like he was having an out of body experience. It can’t be. The coincidence would be too absurd to be believable—that after all these years he could appear before Daichi in such a way.

“Daichi? What is it?” Suga whispers, brows dipping together in concern. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“That’s—” Daichi swallows thickly, watching the boy in red walk towards them with the rest of his team in tow. “I think that’s him. The person I was talking about yesterday.”

Suga frowns, looks over towards where Nekoma is slowly lining up in front of them before his eyes widen in realization. “Wait. You mean your childhood boyfriend, the one you kissed? I thought you said he disappeared? Are you sure?”

“I don’t—I think so? The hair—”

“That hair is _distinctive_ alright. I’m wondering about 6 year old you’s tastes, honestly,” Suga snorts, but he gives Daichi an excited smile. “Isn’t this great, though? It’s a lucky reunion!”

“It might not be him. I don’t know,” Daichi says softly, but his heart leaps in his chest at the thought that it _could_ be. It could be him. After all this time, more than a decade later, it’s possible that Daichi has finally found him again.

“Line up!” The boy announces, and the voice that comes out is a baritone that Daichi doesn’t recognize, as is the authority and confidence laced within it. He comes to stand right in front of Daichi at the front of their parallel lines, which means that he must be Nekoma’s captain. Finally, his gaze flickers up to meet Daichi’s..

But the gaze is cold and distant. There isn’t any semblance of familiarity that Daichi can detect.

“Greet your opponents!” Daichi says, eyes never leaving the boy’s. “Let’s have a good game!”

The teams disperse and begin heading up the concrete steps towards the sports center. In front of him, the boy’s piercing eyes linger on Daichi for a moment longer before his lips lift into a smirk as he turns to follow.

Tekkun never smirked; it looks misplaced. Daichi doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Once they reach the gymnasium, everyone is bustling around setting up the nets and retrieving the ball carts. As Daichi supervises, he can’t stop glancing towards where the captain of Nekoma is standing, eyes cast downwards as he discusses something with another team member. As much as Daichi wants to believe that it _is_ him, the person standing over there is so different that he really can’t be sure. Even looking past the height and the stature that inevitably comes with maturity, the air that the boy carries is distinctly different from the shy, reserved Tekkun in Daichi’s memories. Can a person really change this much, even with the passing of 12 years? Daichi doesn’t know.

Eventually they approach each other for pre-game formalities, and Daichi offers his hand out to shake.

“I’m Sawamura Daichi,” he says slowly, and holds his breath as he waits for the reply.

The boy smiles, taking Daichi’s hand into his own. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Daichi hasn’t heard that name in years. Emotion builds thick in his throat and his next words come out slightly shaky.

“It _is_ you. I wasn’t sure—you’re so different. You don’t remember me?” Daichi laughs, releasing his hold on Tetsurou’s hand. “You used to call me Daicchan. We were childhood friends. How can you not remember?”

Tetsurou lifts a brow, his mouth curving into a puzzled frown. “I’m sorry?”

“I called you Tekkun. We were born in the same hospital, our parents were friends, we were next door neighbours, we were pretty much inseparable until you moved away suddenly—” Daichi rambles, his confusion building as he speaks. There is just no way Tetsurou doesn’t remember him. They spent the first third of their lives attached at the hip. His eyes search Tetsurou’s face for a sign that any of this information is familiar to him but finds nothing. “Remember?”

“I think you have the wrong person,” Tetsurou says carefully. “It’s true I lived in Miyagi for awhile as a child, but I don’t remember any of that.”

“I—”

Daichi doesn’t know what else to say. The Kuroo Tetsurou in front of him says he has the wrong person, but it’s statistically impossible for there to be such a coincidence in this world. The hair, the eyes, the name, it’s all telling of the truth—but more than anything, the feeling in Daichi’s gut is telling him that he isn’t wrong.

“Sorry. I guess that’s my mistake,” Daichi says after the brief moment of hesitation. “I’m looking forward to our game today.”

“No harm done. I’m looking forward to it too.” The smile Tetsurou offers him in return is bright and sunny, but as a beat of silence passes while the two captains beam at each other, mouths frozen awkwardly, Daichi can’t help but think that the person in front of him, whoever he is, is more cunning than he lets on.

They turn away from each other when their respective teams assemble behind them. Frustration burns quietly in the pit of Daichi’s stomach as he walks onto the court, Karasuno behind him and Nekoma beside him.

“Let’s go.”

The two teams head to separate sides of the gym and change into their uniforms. Daichi can sense Suga approaching him without even turning around to look.

“So? Is it him?” Suga whispers urgently as he pulls his jersey top on, stealing a glance towards Tetsurou’s back all the way across the gym where Nekoma is huddled together.

“I don’t know,” Daichi says, thrusting his arm through his sleeve with a little too much aggression. “Apparently he doesn’t remember me.”

“But I thought you two were close. Are you sure it’s even the right person?” Suga’s eyes are wide, staring at Daichi in concern as he tugs his jersey down with much more force than necessary, as if the jersey had personally done something to offend him.

“ _I don’t know_. Maybe he’s just someone who looks exactly the same who also happens to have the exact same name,” Daichi seethes, straightening out his shirt before beginning to stalk away, annoyance chewing on his nerves. “Or maybe it was just a dumb thing from when we were kids and it wasn’t important enough to remember.”

“Daichi—”

“Just—I’m sorry. Just drop it, okay? We have a game.”

Suga frowns, but sighs reluctantly with just a comforting pat of Daichi’s shoulder—for which Daichi is grateful. He knows that Suga is the type to push out of love but it’s not something that he can think about right now. All Daichi wants is for the game to start so that he can recenter himself, as he always does, find his foundation and rid himself of this antsiness wriggling around in his bones.

They line up once again and promise each other a good game before the referee blows his whistle to signal the start of the match. It’s Nekoma’s serve.

Nekoma is a solid team, as can be expected; almost the exact opposite of Karasuno, really. Karasuno is all about shock factor and brute force, raw talent built upon unpracticed basics whereas Nekoma is subtle in their power. They are endlessly patient, receiving all of Karasuno’s attacks one by one without compromise. It’s not that Karasuno isn’t as capable or as strong, but Nekoma is _steady_ and it is precisely that steadiness that will see to Karasuno’s downfall.

“Don’t mind!” Daichi calls after they lose the rally, slapping Asahi on the shoulder as he moves into vanguard, coming face to face with the person who was responsible for knocking him off kilter to begin with.

Tetsurou smirks at him, eyes half-lidded as he gets into position, and Daichi grimaces because no matter who he is, he _looks_ like Tekkun and a sly smirk like that doesn’t belong anywhere on that face.

It’s Tanaka’s serve, which unfortunately goes straight to Nekoma’s libero. His receive is perfect—the ball is returned flawlessly to their setter, who is deceptively plain in looks only. Any decent player could tell immediately how perfect his stance is—it gives nothing away until the last second, the instance before he jumps to set the quick.

But Daichi is more than just a decent player. It takes the single moment from the ball leaving the blond haired setter’s fingertips for him to deduce that it’s a quick set to Tetsurou and he positions himself accordingly for the block.

Tetsurou jumps.

It happens in slow motion—Tetsurou leaps into the air, arms pulled back in preparation for the spike, and instinctively Daichi’s eyes follow him up. The bright gymnasium lights hit him at just the right angle to blind him for a split second, causing Daichi to narrow his eyes in a squint.

But then Tetsurou’s figure is there, blocking out the lights and drowning Daichi in his shadow. The scene is so exact it was like he had travelled back in time just to witness it again.

An entity that is capable of blocking out the sun itself.

There is no longer any doubt in Daichi’s mind. The boy in front of him, Nekoma’s captain, is the same Kuroo Tetsurou that he once knew and loved. No matter what the person himself may say, it is impossible for the truth to be anything else other than the truth. He doesn’t know how it could be that the Tekkun from back then doesn’t remember him, but what Daichi does know is that the image of this skinny boy leaping up in front of him is so nostalgic that a surge of emotion wells up in his throat, right there in the middle of the court.

Daichi jumps into the block, arms splayed out in front of him, and their eyes meet for a split second above the net.

Sunshine to dark chocolate. Together again, playing volleyball together just like old times.

Everything is different, and yet somehow it seems that they’ve ended up right back where they started.

 

\---

 

“It’s him,” Daichi says to Suga later, as the team is doing their penalty jog around the sports center. They had finished 3 whole games against Nekoma, and the way Tetsurou plays has cemented Daichi’s answer in his mind more than anything else. The way he stretches himself to his full height, leaning slightly on his left leg when he prepares to jump. The way he can switch spiking hands as if it’s second nature, a privilege born from his ambidextrousness and flexibility. His usage of the personal time difference attack, a move he and Daichi had watched together on television all those years ago. Tekkun’s eyes had shone in admiration when he swore to Daichi he’d learn to master it, make it his _secret weapon_ that would vanquish even the strongest of opponents.

Figures he’d kept to his word. Nekoma had beaten Karasuno in all 3 games without so much as flinching.

“It is? How do you know?”

“I just do,” Daichi says with a sigh, rubbing at his aching shoulders as they finish their lap and head towards the entrance to the gymnasium. Behind them, he can hear the rowdy first and second years challenging each other to yet another lap as they take off again, leaving the calmer half of the team trailing behind. “But if he says he doesn’t remember, then there’s nothing I can do. Maybe I was mistaken about how much it mattered.”

“But it seems strange, doesn’t it? How can someone just forget their best friend like that? Especially if he moved away without saying goodbye.”

“Yeah. I know I definitely never forgot him.”

The look on Suga’s face is sympathetic as he gives Daichi’s arm a comforting squeeze, and Daichi offers a small smile in return. He doesn’t know what to think. First the dream, and then the sudden memories that he hadn’t thought about in years surfacing at every turn, and then the person himself showing up after all this time. Daichi’s mind is spinning as he approaches the gymnasium doors, falling into silence as he thinks.

“—not the same.”

He perks up at the sound of Tetsurou’s voice drifting out from inside the gymnasium. It sounds lowered, but he must be just to the side of the door because it’s still audible despite his efforts to keep quiet.

“I just don’t want him thinking that he still knows me. It’s not like we can just go back to calling each other ‘Tekkun’ and ‘Daicchan’ like we’re playing some make believe game. That’s why it’s easier to pretend like I don’t know him.”

Daichi stops in his tracks as he enters the gymnasium, eyes wide as he stares over to where Tetsurou’s back is turned towards him, standing with their team setter.

The gym is silent. Somewhere, a single ball hits the floor, creating a resounding echo that could mirror the booming of Daichi’s heart as it flip flops in his chest. Nekoma’s setter notices him first, eyes widening in realization that they’d been heard. Tetsurou notices the change in his demeanour, frowning in confusion as he follows the setter’s line of sight straight to where Daichi is standing.

All this time Daichi had been wondering how it was possible that Tekkun didn’t remember who he was. He never even considered the possibility that he remembered, and lied about it.

Everyone must somehow sense the tension in the air despite not fully understanding the situation because not a single person moves and they are left there like that, Daichi staring at Tetsurou, and Tetsurou staring back. The slightest way Tetsurou’s brows crinkle together and his lips press into a rigid line is the most emotion Daichi has seen from him all day, but he can’t tell what message that face is trying to convey. Regret? An apology? Annoyance?

In the end, Suga is the first to break the silence.

“ _You_ ,” he seethes, and takes a single step forward. His anger billows out from him like smoke, silent but cloying, but before he can go any further Daichi hold out an arm to press into Suga’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s okay, Suga,” Daichi says, his voice coming out begrudgingly soft. He clears his throat. Tries again. “It’s okay, Suga.”

“Daichi—” Tetsurou begins, but bites his tongue when Daichi whips around to glare at him.

This is the person that Daichi had been searching for—for so long, he’d wondered where this person was, who he grew up to be, and if he still thought about Daichi like Daichi thought about him. But right now, in this moment, the realization that all along the person he had kept in his thoughts was someone that no longer exists is settling into his bones like ice.

“You didn’t have to lie about it, you know. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would want to talk about the past. We can pretend like we don’t know each other,” Daichi says coldly, forcing his expression into a nonchalant smile. “If that’s what you want.”

Tetsurou’s face crumples as he opens his mouth— but nothing comes out and he is left standing there in front of Daichi wordlessly. He just looks _troubled._ Anger flares within Daichi’s belly like the sharp edge of a blade as he clenches his fists at his side, holding his smile as if it’s both his shield and his weapon.

 _Don’t give me that look,_ he thinks, smiling and smiling until his mouth hurts from the words he’s forcing himself to leave unsaid. _I’m not the one who left._ _I’m not the one who never came back._

He takes a breath.

“But I’ll have to ask you not to use my first name in that case. Okay? _Kuroo-san_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be taking some creative liberties that branch out slightly from canon, but will be following the same general timeline! hope everyone enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Tetsurou used to play a game.

As a child he would sit on the stoop of his front entrance and spend hours squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again. Sometimes he would hold his breath for as long as he could—until coloured dots would fizzle behind his eyelids and the darkness would start spinning, until he felt like his chest would burst open in the next moment and he had no choice but to open his mouth and gasp for breath, sucking in giant lungfuls of air as quickly as he could manage. It was a silent bet with himself: if he held his breath for long enough, wished hard enough, believed deeply enough, he would open his eyes and Daichi would appear in front of him.

How many thousands of times had he imagined this scenario?

For Daichi to be _there_ , appearing before his very eyes like magic, stretching out his hand and giving that big, wide grin of his which never failed to reassure Tetsurou that everything would be alright. In his imagination, Daichi was always haloed by a backdrop of nostalgic, ethereal starlight.

_“I came to find you, Tekkun!”_

And just like that Tetsurou would take his hand, like before, and they would be together again. After all, no matter where Tetsurou used to hide, whether it was during a game of hide and seek or whether he was hiding out of fear from something in the big, wide, scary world, Daichi somehow always managed to find him. Their parents used to joke that Daichi must have had a hidden antenna somewhere that could detect Tetsurou’s location like a GPS.

Because no matter what, Daichi always brought him home.

Looking back, he knows now that it was a way of making himself believe that he had any semblance of control over his circumstances. It gave him a way to feel like he could do something, anything, even if it was just trying to convince himself that all he had to do was try hard enough to make things go back to the way they used to be. To not feel so helplessly alone.

He can’t bring back the dead.

He can’t heal a broken heart.

But holding his breath and wishing with all his might, that, he _can_ do.

Weeks turned into months and months into years, and however hard he tried, Tetsurou found himself alone sitting on the front stoop of his house, time after time, with his eyes squeezed shut like a dummy. Eventually, disappointment burned its way into something akin to cynicism, he gave up.

He never sat on that stoop again.

No, he didn’t give up—he grew up, into someone who no longer believed in waiting for someone to save him. He grew up into someone who could protect himself so that he didn’t need saving in the first place, even if that self-protection meant hiding behind an ever present smirk and a razor sharp tongue. It became as natural as breathing to hold people at a distance, and to cover up emotion with jokes and provocation. Eventually it became so automatic that he stopped being able to tell for sure where the brick wall he had built ended and where Kuroo Tetsurou began, but to be honest, he preferred it this way—it’s easier to be distant than it was to stay that same scared little boy, puffing out his cheeks as he held his breath until it hurt, waiting for someone to find him like a lost kitten and take him home.

Until now, that is.

Because he steps out of the bus and Daichi is there, _like magic_ , exactly the same and somehow completely different all at once.

How many thousands of times had he imagined this scenario?

 _It’s Daichi_ , he thinks, eyes widening in realization. Daichi, the boy who had held Tetsurou’s soul in the palm of his hand and kept it safe all those years ago. The boy who had a heart of gold and a smile that shone as bright as stars and eyes of molten dark chocolate. The boy whom Tetsurou had waited for, all alone crouched on that familiar, worn stoop until it became a place of anguish.

The boy who never showed up.

Oh, Tetsurou has been here before—on the verge of holding _expectation_ , excitement burning in his bones because despite everything Tetsurou knows that Daichi is the one person who is impervious to his facade. Not because he has the capability of breaking down the tall, tall fortress that Tetsurou had built around himself, but because Daichi has always existed within the walls to begin with. This much has been apparent to Tetsurou from the start—and for that reason, there is not a single person more terrifying to Tetsurou than Daichi is.

But terrifying is okay—Tetsurou has looked terror in the eyes before. It came for him in the form of a steady staccato of an intravenous drip, of broken smiles and the smell of antiseptic.

Then, eventually, the waft of incense smoke and a crowd of black clothing on a rainy day.

The trick to confronting the terrifying is to never let it know you are afraid.

Tetsurou stands at the head of the line, meets Daichi’s eyes, and slips into a razor-edged smile like a second skin.

 

\---

 

“Kuro.”

Kenma’s gaze is disapproving as he hovers over the bench where Tetsurou is perched, writing up game notes on the many matches they had just played against Karasuno. Unfortunately Nekoma doesn’t have the luxury having of a manager, so this duty falls onto the captain’s shoulders.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Tetsurou sighs, his eyes dropping back towards his page of notes. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Kenma.”

“Why did you pretend that you don’t remember who he is?”

And there it is, as unmerciful and frank as always. Kenma has never been one to let up on Tetsurou just because Tetsurou asked him to—and while Tetsurou is grateful for the love behind it, this means that often times Kenma is the one to bring up the feelings that Tetsurou most wants to avoid in the moment, and this time is no exception.

He had felt the hurt in Daichi’s eyes like a knife in his own gut, twisting and twisting the more confusion laid itself out across Daichi’s features.

_You don’t remember me?”_

Of course he remembered. There isn’t a thing of their past together that Tetsurou has forgotten, not the way the sun had looked, burning red-orange in the horizon as the two of them walked home together after school, or the way Daichi’s hand always felt bigger and somehow more grown up than Tetsurou’s own despite being the younger of the two. They are all precious memories that carried Tetsurou through his darkest moments, locked up tight in the deepest crevices of his heart.

“You know why,” Tetsurou says simply, scrubbing at his face wearily at the sight of Kenma’s frown. This much is the truth—Kenma may be the only person who knows even a fraction of all that Tetsurou doesn’t have the capability to say. After all, Kenma is the one person who had been quietly and steadily present in the exact way that Tetsurou had needed most back during those days.

“In the end you’ll be the one who ends up hurt, stupid Kuro.” Kenma warns, shuffling his feet on the gymnasium floor. “You always are. I hate seeing you do this.”

Kenma only ever says things as they are, no more and no less, which is why there isn’t anything Tetsurou can do but give a small shrug, meeting Kenma’s eyes in a silent admission of defeat.

“He hasn’t changed,” Tetsurou mumbles, smiling ruefully to himself. “It’s like I stepped backwards in time, seriously. The way he naturally leads everyone forward with that tenacity of his. Even when we were snot nosed brats, all the kids on the playground just had this— _respect_ , you know? We hardly even understood what respect was at the time, but Daichi is special. He always has been.

“He hasn’t changed, but I have. If he expects things to go back to the way things were, he’s going to expect the kid that he used to know and that kid isn’t around anymore. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s the one person…” Tetsurou trails off, staring at the notes in front of him absentmindedly.

His pen falls from his loosened fingers to floor, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Kuro—”

“Anyway,” Tetsurou says hurriedly, bending over to pick up the pen and standing as he gathers his notes into his arms. “Things just aren’t the same.”

“You can keep telling yourself that,” Kenma mumbles, tilting his head to stare up at Tetsurou with that piercing, observant gaze of his. “But you and I both know why you’re pushing him away. I call you ‘stupid Kuro’ a lot but you’re not an idiot. You’re more self aware than that.”

A stab of frustration builds in Tetsurou’s gut as he clenches the pen in his fist.

“I just don’t want him thinking that he still knows me. It’s not like we can just go back to calling each other ‘Tekkun’ and ‘Daicchan’ like we’re playing some make believe game. That’s why it’s easier to pretend like I don’t know him,” he says, and it comes out more harshly than he means it but Kenma’s face stays ever passive. It’s not like he can ever fool Kenma with words alone, especially not when he’s saying things he doesn’t really mean.

The truth is—it’s not about Daichi. It’s not even about disappointing Daichi, not really. Tetsurou knows that Daichi is kind and understanding and has a heart of pure gold—there’s no way that Daichi wouldn’t accept Tetsurou for exactly the way that he is right now if Tetsurou gave him even a semblance of a chance to do so. But that’s not what any of this is about, it’s about—

The steady staccato of an intravenous drip. The smell of antiseptic.

Incense smoke and black clothing.

A broken smile.

Tetsurou blinks and forces himself back into the present, looking up with a mouthful of words that might be able to get Kenma off his back—but all those words turn to dust when he sees the worried expression on Kenma’s face. He spins around, following Kenma’s line of sight directly to Daichi, standing over by the gymnasium doors with half his team in tow, an unreadable look on his face.

Somewhere in the background a ball hits the floor, the sound resounding over and over again within the freezing cold room.

How much had Daichi heard? It’s impossible to tell with how neutral his expression is. The gymnasium lapses into a thick, suffocating silence, wrapping around Tetsurou’s throat like gnarled hands, and he bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. This was the opposite of what he had been trying to achieve. Tetsurou doesn’t know how fate manages to turn around and bite him in the ass time and time again, because it’s so _cruel_ that he had forced himself with sheer willpower to resist stepping back into Daichi’s warmth, only to end up here—split open and vulnerable, on the receiving end of Daichi’s indecipherable stare.

“ _You_ —”

The first to speak is Karasuno’s setter, a thin, pale skinned boy with silver hair. He steps forward, malice bleeding from his pores and eyes wide with rage. Tetsurou flinches—he hadn’t been expecting this level of anger, especially not from someone who doesn’t even understand the context behind the situation. Just how much had Daichi told his friends? Just how much did they hear of his and Kenma’s conversation just now?

“It’s okay, Suga.”

Daichi lifts an arm to stop the setter from advancing another step, and there’s something in the intimacy of the gesture that makes sadness well up in Tetsurou’s chest. Just as Tetsurou has Kenma, it’s only expected that Daichi has also found his own people after they were separated. People that he grew with, laughed with, cried with, and shared his dreams with. There’s no helping the way the thought bubbles up in Tetsurou’s mind—if things had stayed the same, if Tetsurou had never been forced to leave, maybe he could have been one of the people to stand by Daichi’s side. But as it happens, Tetsurou doesn’t exist anywhere within all those years from then to now.

It’s strange. Daichi is standing in front of him, so close that Tetsurou could easily reach out for him if he just tried—but somehow there are years and years of unfamiliarity that exist within the short distance between them.

“Daichi—” Tetsurou starts, taking a hesitant step forward, and stops himself. What can he even say to make things better?

The look on Daichi’s face as he whirls around is laced with so much pain that Tetsurou’s breath sticks in his throat.

“You didn’t have to lie about it, you know. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would want to talk about the past. We can pretend like we don’t know each other.” Daichi’s voice is ice cold and _stinging_. “If that’s what you want.”

Frustration spreads like poison in his chest as Tetsurou opens his mouth to say _something_ , anything, but nothing comes out because there is nothing he can think of to say to make the situation better. Somehow he had already messed everything up even after making the conscious decision to distance himself from it, which only confirms that the best thing he can do for Daichi’s sake is to stay far, far away.

“But I’ll have to ask you not to use my first name in that case. Okay? _Kuroo-san_.”

The use of his last name is a final, hard slap in the face. Once upon a time they had been _Tekkun_ and _Daicchan_ , kindred spirits, best friends, two parts of a whole—the disconnect between those two kids who were each other’s favourite person and the two strangers who stand here today, _Kuroo-san_ and _Sawamura-san_ , throbs painfully in Tetsurou’s chest like a fresh bruise. He can’t help but recoil from it, clenching his fists at his side until his nails are digging into his palms almost painfully. There is so much he wants to say to Daichi. For years, all he wanted was to see his best friend again, to spill everything he held in his heart to the boy he had once promised his future to, all the sadness and loneliness and _pain_ that he hadn’t been able to show to anyone else—

But it’s hopeless. This situation is hopeless. It has been from the start, because he isn’t _Tekkun_ anymore. He’s just a jagged puzzle piece with a ripped off edge, no longer able to fit against his other half.

This is for the best. He knows it.

“Okay,” Tetsurou finds himself saying, ignoring the hard pinch that Kenma discreetly gives him on the back of his arm.

Daichi’s brows draw together for only a split second before he takes a breath, donning a smile so cold that Tetsurou is sure it could turn the room to ice if he so wished.

“Great! Now that we’ve settled that, the coaches are expecting us captains for a quick briefing. Let’s not keep them waiting.” The clap of Daichi’s hands seems to jolt everyone out of their silence, and everything starts moving again all at once. Karasuno’s setter levels one last hard glare over his shoulder before being ushered away by the taller wing spiker, and Tetsurou does his best not to react until their eye contact breaks.

It’s only then that he winces, rubbing at the painful welt that is no doubt forming on the back of his arm.

“That hurt, what the hell Kenma—”

“You really are stupid Kuro.” Kenma lets out an irritated sigh, but pats Tetsurou on the back as comfortingly as can be expected of Kenma before heading over to help the underclassmen fold the net up for storage. Tetsurou stands there alone for just a moment, giving himself a single chance to get his wits about him.

For the first time in years, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath.

 

\---

 

“—would be easier. What do you think, Sawamura-kun?”

Karasuno’s bespectacled advisor had just finished saying something as Kuroo approaches, and he casts a wayward glance towards where Daichi—no, _Sawamura,_ is standing. Immediately he notices the way Sawamura’s back has stiffened, with tension building in his shoulders like weights, and the way he’s running his thumb idly down the scar on the base of his palm.

When they were 5 years old they had been playing in the freshly fallen snow one day, making snowmen and sliding down the big hill by the park on their bellies in a mimicry of their favourite TV show at the time, _Mighty Penguin Warriors_. It always got snow inside their snowsuits when they played this game, drenching their sweaters until their lips turned blue which never failed to make their parents nag. But they were young and fearless, invincible against angry parents or even frostbite, and the biting winter air against their faces as they went hurling down that hill was as close to adrenaline as 5 year olds could get. Except one time Daichi had gone as they usually do, sliding forward with his arms splayed out in front of him, and then the next thing Tetsurou heard was an earth shattering wail coming from the base of the hill.

It was the first time Tetsurou had seen so much blood.

The colour was even more striking against the freshly fallen snow, smeared all over Daichi’s light blue snowsuit and gushing from his hand like a waterfall. He had sliced it on a sharp rock that had been jutting out of the ground, unnoticeable because of the way the snow covered it—until Daichi went hurtling over it at a high enough speed that it had sliced right into his skin.

 _“It hurts! It huuuurts!”_ Daichi had bawled, sitting there limply in the snow with blood splashed all around him like paint on a canvas. _“Tekkun!!”_

Even as a 5 year old child Tetsurou knew that was a very, _very_ deep cut.

 _“Y-you’re okay, it’s just a little cut. It doesn’t hurt,”_ he had said shakily, bottom lip trembling from fear. Tetsurou doesn’t know what came over him that day—Daichi had always been the braver of the two, the one who stood up against the world with more maturity and courage than any child of their age should rightfully have while Tetsurou cowered behind him. Perhaps it was seeing his brave friend hurt and sobbing in front of him that triggered some sort of instinct in 5 year old Tetsu, because for the first time he was the one who held his tears in for Daichi’s sake. _“I’ll give you a piggyback ride home and your mom will put a bandaid on it! Come on, Daicchan.”_

Tetsurou had gathered Daichi up in his arms and piggybacked him all the way home, trudging through the snow, and eventually Daichi’s loud sobs subsided to whimpers buried into the back of Tetsurou’s shoulder.

 _“Tekkun, do you think I’m going to die?”_ He had blubbered, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. _“Don’t you die if you lose too much blood?”_

 _“You’re not going to die! Don’t be silly.”_ There was no reason for Kuroo to have been so confident in his answer because he hadn’t the faintest clue about blood loss or dying—but he wasn’t about to say that in front of Daichi. _“B-besides, even if you die I’ll just bring you back to life.”_

 _“Like in Mighty Penguin Warriors?”_ Daichi sniffled as he perched his chin on Tetsurou’s shoulder. _“When Sir Pip had to find the Brilliant Beluga of Rebirth to bring Lady Luck back to life?”_

_“Yea! Just like that! I promise, I’ll always bring you back.”_

_“Okay! You better keep your promise!”_

_“I will, of course, Penguin Warriors always keep their word.”_

Daichi’s mother had gone sheet pale when they reached home, both covered in blood and completely worn out. It wasn’t until Daichi’s father drove off with Daichi to get his hand checked at the hospital that Tetsurou had burst into tears—he still remembers the way Daichi’s mom had held him as he sobbed, petting his hair and thanking him for being brave and protecting Daichi. It was the first time in his entire life that anyone had called him brave. In the end, Daichi had needed two stitches and didn’t so much as complain, but after the wound healed he developed a habit of running his fingers along the jagged scar whenever he was feeling uneasy.

So here they are now, more than 10 years later, standing uncomfortably far apart with Sawamura still running his fingers down that scar of his.

“Thank you for joining us, Kuroo-kun. I’m Takeda, Karasuno’s teacher advisor. This is Ukai-kun, our team coach.”

Kuroo bows a little in greeting, trying his hardest to ignore the way that Sawamura doesn’t turn to acknowledge him at all.

“We were just suggesting to Sawamura-kun that maybe it would be easier if you two captains exchanged contact information so that we can plan future meetings,” Takeda continues, and Kuroo stiffens, finally realizing why Sawamura seems so on edge. “Technology these days makes everything so convenient, but we older folk are behind on the times it seems...”

“Ah, I, uh—” Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, Kuroo spares another glance over at Sawamura. “That is—”

“Don’t tell me you two aren’t getting along?” Ukai frowns, folding his arms in front of him sternly. “Rivalry and all that is healthy, but you guys had better remember your sportsmanship.”

“No, it’s not that, Coach,” Sawamura interjects. He finally looks up at Kuroo, managing an icy smile. “I’m fine with it if Kuroo-san is. It’ll be easier to plan practice matches around our academics if the students are the ones organizing them, anyway.”

Takeda claps his hands, seemingly pleased with the way things turned out. “Wonderful! We really are hoping to re-establish a good relationship between Karasuno and Nekoma. As the captains, please lead your teams with an example of what fellow sportsmen should act like. Get along with each other, okay?”

 “Of course, sensei,” Sawamura says, eyes not at all reflecting the rigid smile on his face as he steps forward, reaching into his pocket to dig out his cellphone. “If I may, Kuroo-san, what is your cell phone number?”

Nobody misses Ukai mumbling _why is he being so polite_ under his breath but they don’t comment on it as Nekomata and Takeda turn their sunshine smiles towards Kuroo, who swallows nervously before pulling his phone out of his pocket and summoning a teasing tone despite the panic rising in his heart.

“Keep up with the times, Sawamura-san. Everyone just uses infrared nowadays.”

So that’s how, in the span of a scant couple of hours, Kuroo managed to find Sawamura, _royally_ fuck up with Sawamura, and then get Sawamura’s phone number all in one go. He must be the most talented person on this planet—or maybe just the most weak-willed, because as both teams finish packing up and head towards the gymnasium doors, Kuroo finds himself marvelling at the cell phone in his hands. This little thing, this rectangular object made of metal and plastic, gives him a direct connection to Sawamura. At any given time, if he so wishes, he can talk to Sawamura—the person whom he was separated from all those years ago, and whom his heart had shattered over like it was ripped right in two.

The person whom Kuroo had convinced himself that he didn’t need in his life anymore mere minutes ago, now, is contained right here in the palm of his hand.

It’s one thing to brush Sawamura off for a couple of hours and then go on home, never to see him again. It’s another to constantly have to be in contact with him, to see him semi-frequently and maintain some sort of fake-friendly relationship with him. Kuroo hadn’t expected this. He isn’t prepared for this.

Already he feels the questions burning in the back of his mind, twelve years worth of curiosity longing to be answered. _How are you? Have you been well? Are you taking care of yourself? Is yellow still your favourite colour? Do you still put peanut butter on your eggs like a weirdo?_

_I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye._

_I missed you._

_I waited for you._

Everyone is saying their separate goodbyes now, some people already having made fast friends with the opposing team, and after a brief internal debate with himself, Kuroo summons the will to approach Sawamura from behind. He clears his throat, trying not to notice the way Sawamura’s eyes shine amber in the setting sun as they widen when he turns around to face Kuroo.

“Well, Sawamura-san,” Kuroo begins awkwardly, settling with extending a hand, “thanks for everything.”

Sawamura’s eyes flit from Kuroo’s hand to his face dubiously, hesitating for a long moment before finally taking Kuroo’s hand in his own.

“You too,” he says, smiling sugar-sweet and _scary_ as he tightens his grip until Kuroo hears his own hand crack painfully. “Next time we won’t lose.”

So maybe Sawamura is completely justified in his pettiness, but that doesn’t mean Kuroo is mature enough to take it sitting down, even if he deserves it. Sure—he made an ass of himself earlier, but given the situation he’s extending an olive branch now, isn’t he? The least Sawamura could do is be professional about this.

Kuroo grins, big and toothy and utterly fake, clamping his other hand on top of Sawamura’s as he squeezes back as hard as he can to return the favour. He may or may not feel the slightest bit smug when Sawamura blatantly grits his teeth behind his closed-lipped smile, but well, no one is keeping count.

“Next time we _still_ won’t lose,” he says back, his tone absolutely nothing but amicable, and distantly he can feel a murderous vibe emanating from behind his back, where he’s sure Karasuno’s setter— _Suga_ , is looming. Releasing his grip and taking a step back, he pointedly directs a polite smile and a wave to Suga before turning on his heel and ushering his team onto the bus.

Kenma’s stare is loaded with unspoken judgement as Kuroo flops down in the seat beside him, slouching low so that he’s out of sight from the window.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Kenma says, redirecting his attention back to the console in his hands.

Oh, he _knows_ . Leave it to Kenma to hit him right where it hurts most, because there has decidedly never been a time where Kuroo has been _more_ aware of his own stupidity than in this very moment.

It’s all Kuroo can do to let out a grunt of acknowledgement before falling into a thoughtful, albeit petulant silence. He stews in it as they pull out of the parking lot of Karasuno Sougou Sports Park, allows his irritation to burn in the pit of his stomach all the way until they reach the Shinkansen station. But by the time they board the bullet train and he takes his allotted seat sandwiched by Kenma and the window, all of his annoyance has fizzled out into exhaustion.

This morning when he woke up he couldn’t possibly have fathomed how this day would progress.

What a ride the day has been. That’s exactly what it had felt like—a rollercoaster ride with wild turns, steep drops, and gut-wrenching loop-de-loops. Kuroo feels sick. He wants to get off. It feels like he’s been screaming and screaming for years and the stupid ride just won’t end.

His heart _hurts_. Seeing Sawamura’s face so suddenly, after all this time, had hurt. Hurting Sawamura had hurt. Being on the receiving end of Sawamura’s blatant hatred hurts.

But all of it is his own fault, anyway. What is he even complaining about? Sheesh, this is so unlike him. He was supposed to have conquered this unsightly version of himself. He was supposed to be strong now, perhaps numb to a lot of things and maybe more than a little detached, but all of that had been for the sake of _strength_ , had it not?

And if it wasn’t—then for what reason has he fought so hard for, all this time?

It’s like there’s something about Sawamura that turns him into a coward, the same kid that used to be afraid of just about everything twelve years ago, not able to do a single thing to help anyone. Unable to save even a single person.

The doubt and the loathing and the pain is swirling in his chest like a black hole now, threatening to disintegrate everything in its wake. Kuroo hasn’t felt this destructive in a long time. It’s the crux of keeping everything at a distance, he supposes—when it rains, oh it _pours_.

 _This_ is what terror is—coming face to face with the feelings he had wanted to avoid at all costs, even if it meant pushing his childhood best friend far, far out of his own reach.

Sawamura Daichi is a walking reminder of all the things he doesn’t want to remember.

Kuroo wants to get off this ride.

“What do I do?” He croaks, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. “About him.”

Kenma’s eyes flit from his console to Kuroo’s deflated figure.

“Dunno. I’m the last person you should be asking about this kinda stuff.” An awkward pause hangs in the space between them, the sound effects and tinny music of Kenma’s game playing from his console speakers as he maneuvers his little cartoon character through a maze with deft fingers. At some point Kenma must take pity on him because he gives a small sigh before shrugging. “...maybe you just need to stop Kuro-ifying everything.”

Kuroo squints, his brows furrowing together. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You overthink everything. It’s annoying. You complicate simple situations and then you go over the top trying to fix a problem that you made up while you were overthinking, but doesn’t actually exist.” With every word that comes out of Kenma’s mouth, Kuroo feels more and more like a rusty nail being pounded into a rotting piece of wood. Damn Kenma’s uncanny observational skills. There’s nothing he can even say to defend himself. Ignoring the way Kuroo is slouching lower and lower in his seat, Kenma continues on without so much as looking up. “You’ve convinced yourself that some big catastrophe is going to happen if you show even a hint of genuineness in front of him because he reminds you of your mom, right?”

The hairs on the back of Kuroo’s neck bristle and he draws his arms across his chest, folding into himself rigidly.

“No. We’re not going there.”

The sound of an explosions from Kenma’s game rings out, before a sad _wah-wah-waaah_ tune plays and he sighs, staring thoughtfully at the dark GAME OVER screen for a moment. “All that really matters should be if you want to get to know him again now. Forget whatever else goes on in your Kuro-ified brain.”

With that, Kenma restarts his game and the two of them lapse back into silence. The Shinkansen speeds along its track and Kuroo stares dazedly at the massive rolling green hills passing them by through the window. Could it really be that simple? If the question was whether or not he wanted to know what the current day Sawamura is like—the answer would be yes. After all, Kuroo had spent a third of his life growing alongside this boy, loving this boy, and being protected by this boy—and then he had spent the years after treasuring his faded memories of that boy like hopeful starlight on a cold, rainy day. He has so many things he had wanted to say to Sawamura over the lost years, and so many things he had wanted to ask. _What kind of music do you listen to? What’s your favourite subject in school? Do you like spicy food? What’s your favourite animal?_

Is it really okay to ask those questions?

Is it okay to come together again not as _Tekkun and Daicchan_ , but to meet anew as Kuroo Tetsurou and Sawamura Daichi?

Is it okay to look forward to what’s to come?

If Kuroo can let go of _Daicchan_ and properly see Sawamura for who he is in the present, there could be a chance that he can sever the association his mind automatically draws between Sawamura and the memories he doesn’t want to think of. Maybe it was nothing more than a stupid mistake to act so emotionally. If it’s simply mind over matter, then Kuroo has confidence in his ability to adapt.

Maybe it’s not too late to make amends.

And if it _is_ possible to fix what he has so clumsily broken, to find a comfortable middle ground between getting too close and being complete strangers who detest each other, well then—Kuroo wants to try.

His eyelids feel like lead with the way he has to fight to keep them open, but regardless he digs his cellphone out from his pocket, flips it open with his thumb and clicks through his contacts until he finds _Sawamura Daichi_.

After a moment of hesitation, he types out a brief message and hits send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a lot longer to get out than i thought it would... :'^) i hope you're all out there still. sorry for the wait, and hope everyone enjoys the kuroo-centric chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:32PM)  
pineapple on pizza. thoughts?

Daichi stares at the text.

He stares at the text for a full 4 minutes and 45 seconds, as if the pixelated letters on his phone would somehow rearrange themselves into something more logical if he simply mulled it over long enough.

Spoiler: they don’t.

And then, over the course of those scant few minutes, his confusion slowly bubbles into anger as he clutches his phone tighter and tighter until his fingertips turn white from the pressure. With a sudden flare of uncharacteristic spontaneity burning in his belly, he turns and chucks his phone at his bed, harder than he had intended, where it bounces on his comforter before clattering to the floor and skidding across his room.

It’s all Daichi can do to force himself to take a few deep breaths, stewing in his silence, before begrudgingly going to retrieve his phone. Thankfully, it turns on without any problems.

The cryptic message is very much still there when his blood pressure has stabilized enough that he dares to check again. It feels like each rounded letter is mocking him, goading him into some non-existent war that he refuses to give in to.

Because, what the fuck.

What the  _ fuck _ ?

He has no idea what Kuroo is thinking. This series of events is simply impossible to make sense of — after all, hadn’t it been  _ Kuroo _ that wanted to act like they were strangers in the first place? It was Kuroo that agreed to addressing each other by their last names. It was Kuroo that wanted to maintain distance.

It was Kuroo who returned out of thin air after 12 long years, with an ice cold demeanour that Daichi fails to find even a wisp of familiarity in.

So why? Why approach him after the match? Why the provocation topped with a syrupy sweet smirk, and the the dazed, half-lidded stares when he thinks Daichi isn’t looking, and most importantly, why this nonsensical text?

Over a decade ago Kuroo Tetsurou had broken his heart seemingly beyond repair, smashed it into a million tiny pieces that Daichi only just managed to clumsily bind together again with nothing more than bleeding scar tissue and craft glue made of tenacity. 

But now, Kuroo has managed to tear apart a decade’s worth of hard-earned healing within the span of a single day.

Daichi is in desperate need of another repair job, but this time he’s experienced. It’s a blessing in disguise, he supposes, that the ache he feels is familiar even if it’s unwanted.

Setting his phone to silent, Daichi places it face down on his desk and promptly shoves all of it deep into the recesses of his mind, willing himself not to dwell on it. He isn’t that kid anymore, the one that woke up with a belly full of hopes only to find a cold, empty house and a missing best friend who never returned.

(Who never returned until he did, Daichi supposes, but he didn’t. Not really.)

He won’t allow himself to be caught off guard a third time. 

The texts continue to come like clockwork even when Daichi stubbornly ignores all of them. Only once daily, always around the same time, and none of them with any context whatsoever. 

**kuroo tetsurou** (5:20PM)  
if the earth is a huge sphere does that mean that (volley)ball really is life

**kuroo tetsurou** (5:17PM)  
if two people living in antipodal countries each place a piece of bread on the ground, are they making an earth sandwich

**kuroo tetsurou** (4:59PM)  
if you’re waiting for the waiter to bring your food at a restaurant doesn’t that make you the waiter

**kuroo tetsurou** (5:51PM)  
why do they call it a building if it’s already built

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:36PM)  
on that same note why do they call it an apartment when they’re all stuck together

**kuroo tetsurou** (4:45PM)  
how come our nose runs but our feet smell

But as much as Daichi doesn’t want it to affect him, it does. He can feel the irritation grinding on his nerves and it starts permeating into his daily activities because he just can’t stop  _ thinking _ about Kuroo when the reminders of his existence are so frequent, and Daichi’s concentration slackens throughout the course of the week. He falls behind on his schoolwork, forgets his lunch box at home no less than three times and most importantly, his performance during practice deteriorates.

“Come on, Sawamura! That should have been an easy receive for you. Your head’s not in it!” Ukai yells, folding his arms across his chest with a scowl on his face. “Focus!”

“Yes, coach!” Daichi answers, wiping a trail of sweat from his jaw before crouching back into position. Irritation swirls inside of him, a whirlpool of ochre hardening from sludge to cement in his chest as he dives for the ball again and again until he can feel the bruises pooling under his skin.

Maybe this was Kuroo’s plan all along —harass him until his concentration crumbles so that Karasuno is nothing more than a secured win for Nekoma at nationals. If Karasuno even makes it to nationals, at this rate.

Some part of Daichi wishes it were that simple. He knows it isn’t.

The most recent text comes after practice as he’s walking towards  _ Sakanoshita _ with his teammates, and something in him snaps when he hears the familiar buzz of his phone in his pocket. He knows even without looking who the sender is. It’s a challenge and a half to resist throwing his phone like he had when he received the first text, but this time there isn’t a convenient bed to cushion the impact. Daichi settles for clenching his teeth until his jaw creaks.

“Daichi?” Suga asks, raising his brows at the sudden spike in tension as Asahi swallows nervously behind him, cowering just slightly. “Are you okay?”

His phone is lit up when he pulls it out of his pocket, and if it’s possible for a human being to spontaneously burst into flames Daichi swears he would have from the fury that courses through his veins when he confirms his suspicions.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:43PM)  
if a bunch of cats jump on each other is it still called a dog pile

“Yup!” Is all that Daichi manages to grit out, fingertips shaking from anger and fake smile spreading wide enough across his face to make Asahi let out a squeak of fear. He turns, hiding his phone from view as he impulsively taps out a reply, hitting send before he can talk himself out of it.

**Me** (6:45PM)  
Is there a point to any of these questions, Kuroo-san?

The reply is immediate and Daichi’s glare turns  _ murderous _ .

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:46PM)   
just thought I’d share some deep philosophical questions of the world with you!

**Me** (6:46PM)   
How kind, but I would rather you not, thank you.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:47PM)  
come now, sawamura-san. it won’t do for fellow captains to have this level of animosity.  
there isn’t any reason for us to be unfriendly, is there?

_ This fu _ _ — _

Daichi gets it now. 

It’s not a war, it’s a  _ game _ , one that Daichi initially had no intention of playing but now he has no choice  _ but _ to — because he’s being provoked, and like hell if he’s about to let some rooster-headed cat saunter onto his territory and allow himself to be beaten.

It’s unclear to him what Kuroo’s intention is, but the rules of this game are obvious. The first person to talk about the past loses. The first person to show vulnerability loses. The first person to  _ care _ loses, because Kuroo’s right — under their agreement of pretending to be strangers, there wouldn’t be a reason for Daichi not to be amicable with him. It means that Daichi has already lost, in a way, for allowing Kuroo to get under his skin all week with nothing more than a single text a day.

So Daichi’s the underdog in this game, he supposes —but that suits him just fine. It’s what he’s used to, and where his strength lies. He’ll get by the same way he’s achieved everything else he has: willpower and effort. Just that.

**Me** (6:49PM)  
Do what you want.  
But I must question your social skills, considering all you’ve succeeded in doing is annoy me when you were apparently going for friendliness. 

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:50PM)  
is it fair to assume that you’re only annoyed because i blew your mind everyday this week with my thought provoking questions

**Me** (6:50PM)  
No.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:51PM)   
so cold, sawamura-san.

Oddly enough, texting Kuroo back actually alleviates some of the anger boiling in his blood. He reminds himself to slacken his shoulders as he shoves his phone into his pocket and falls back into step with the rest of his team, sighing quietly to himself while he watches over the first years squabble over snacks in front of  _ Sakanoshita _ . Today’s practice hadn’t gone well and as much as Daichi wants to blame Kuroo for it, in his heart he knows that there is no one else to take responsibility but himself. He allows himself to get shaken too easily.

What kind of  _ foundation  _ is he? It’s almost laughable.

Although in his defense, it isn’t just  _ anyone  _ who is capable of shaking him to his core. Daichi knows this of himself —h e might have a temper sometimes, but the moments where he becomes truly unhinged are few and far between.

In conclusion, there shouldn’t be a reason why Kuroo is able to affect him this deeply. Twelve years is a long time for two people to change, and it would be silly to believe that they know anything about each other anymore. It only makes sense then, to conclude that Daichi hasn’t looked at Kuroo properly since the moment he stepped off that bus. Not the person that exists today, anyway. It’s like Daichi had looked straight  _ through _ him like an apparition from his memories, desperately trying to fit a Kuroo-shaped peg into a Tekkun-shaped slot. And that isn’t fair, not to Kuroo nor to himself.

It’s time to let go, Daichi supposes. Everyone grows up sometime.

Not that any of this at all justifies Kuroo’s dishonesty, or his strange attitude since then. It’s impossible to know when the person in question refuses to come out with it, and Daichi doesn’t trust him. It’s a terrible thing to realize when once upon a time there wasn’t anyone Daichi had trusted  _ more _ . 

“Your eyes are glazing over, captain.”

Daichi jumps, tearing himself out of his ruminations and looking over sheepishly to meet Suga’s suspicious stare.

“Sorry. Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, dragging a weary palm down his face. “It’s been one of those days.”

“One of those  _ weeks _ , more like. You’ve been distracted ever since we played Nekoma.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Suga huffs, reaching over to pinch Daichi’s cheek between his fingers and pulls, brows furrowing together. “I don’t want an  _ apology _ , you big idiot. I just want to know if you’re okay. You won’t talk to me about it, you won’t talk to Asahi about it, and you’re starting to look like a zombie with those bags under your eyes. So. Are. You. Okay?”

“Ow, ow, ow — ” Daichi yanks himself out of Suga’s grasp, rubbing at his reddened cheek with a betrayed scowl. “Well if I was okay, I’m not now. Sheesh, you’re so violent.”

The way Suga plants his hands on his hips and lifts a brow without uttering a single word makes Daichi instinctively cover both cheeks with his hands and warily take another step away.

“You don’t have to say it. I pretty much know what you’re thinking about anyway,” Suga says, aggression falling away into quiet concern as he scuffs his shoes on the pavement absentmindedly. “I’m here if you ever want to talk, okay?”

Daichi smiles, leaning over to nudge Suga’s leg with his affectionately. “I know. Thanks, Suga.”

“I’m bringing hair clippers to our next practice match. Just so you know.”

The laugh that Daichi lets out finally feels genuine for what feels like the first time all week.

 

\---

 

Time passes as it tends to do, and the only thing Daichi can say about it is  _ strange _ .

It’s so strange to know someone so intimately, so  _ deeply _ , and yet not really know anything about them at all. Throughout the course of the next few weeks, Daichi realizes just how unprepared he had been before impulsively leaping into...whatever  _ this _ is.

For example: Daichi knows that as a child, Kuroo once refused to bathe for two weeks because an older kid in the neighbourhood had secretly shown them an R rated horror movie in which a terrifying, invisible ghost woman had been bathing in a bathtub filled with blood. After many, many tearful arguments and one increasingly greasy child, Kuroo’s father had driven all over town desperately searching for a pair of glasses that looked exactly like the one in the movie which allowed people to see the ghost, in order to show Kuroo that there was, in fact, no such ghost haunting their bathtub. 

Daichi also knows that Kuroo developed a habit of sleeping with two pillows squashed up against either side of his head like a hamburger because his grandfather once joked that spirits are able to possess your body by getting in through your ears. Daichi knows Kuroo has a tiny birthmark shaped like a star hidden by his hairline on the nape of his neck, and that his favourite food is charcoal grilled saury. He knows Kuroo likes drinking hot milk with honey, especially when he has a cold, and in the summer Kuroo likes going to the beach more than he likes going camping because he reacts badly to mosquito bites.

Daichi knows all these tiny little details about Kuroo, has all these memories of him, and yet he doesn’t know which junior high school Kuroo went to. He doesn’t know what Kuroo likes to do in his spare time aside from volleyball. He doesn’t know what Kuroo’s favourite subject is in school, or what his fashion sense is like. He has no idea how Kuroo takes his coffee —or if he drinks coffee at all, for that matter.

He knows things about Kuroo that few people would but at the same time he hasn’t the faintest idea of simple things that anyone in Kuroo’s life _ought_ to know. 

Strange. He tries to let go of  _ Tekkun _ the best that he knows how, but it’s a feat that’s easier said than done—there isn’t a single button that he can press to erase the knowledge of who Kuroo really is, after all. The disparity between  _ Tekkun _ and  _ Kuroo _ is constantly throwing Daichi off kilter in a way that only Kuroo seems to be able to do, especially since Daichi finds himself talking to Kuroo more and more in the coming weeks. He isn’t sure how they seem to fall into a routine that could almost be considered civility when his anger is still very much present, stirring in his chest like an undercurrent whenever he recalls the echo of a bouncing volleyball in a stockstill gymnasium, the slow turn of golden eyes, and the way Kuroo’s face had dropped into something indecipherable—mouth rigid, brows furrowed, eyes  _ sad _ —

Daichi doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what any of this means.

What he does know:  _ Kuroo _ is a little shit.

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:21AM)   
what’s for lunch today?

**Me** (11:34AM)  
Just leftovers from last night’s dinner.  
You?

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:35AM)  
it’s bread from the school cafeteria for me.  
what’s in your bento?

**Me** (11:37AM)  
Why are you so interested in my lunch?  
Rice, karaage, braised pork, pumpkin and potato salad, spinach omelette, soy sauce marinated cucumbers, cherry tomato, and a banana.

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:38AM)  
...how many people do you have in your stomach sawamura-san

**Me** (11:40AM)  
I was actually thinking I’d get one or two onigiri from the cafeteria later because I’m still kind of hungry.

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:42AM)  
somehow i’m not sure whether to be impressed or scared

**Me** (11:45AM)  
It’s a normal amount for an active person!

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:46AM)  
well i suppose you would need the extra nourishment, considering all the extra penalty exercises you and your crows will have to do every time you lose to nekoma. 

**Me** (11:48AM)  
...we’re going to destroy you next time.

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:48AM)  
oya? big words coming from 3 time loser karasuno-san~  
don’t get so worked up, you’ll get indigestion, you know.

**Me** (11:49AM)   
I’m blocking your number.   
  


**kuroo tetsurou** (11:50AM)   
now, now, now, let’s not be so impulsive, sawamura-san.  
it was a joke!  
i happen to think your midsection is just the right amount of trim, actually.

**kuroo tetsurou** (11:58AM)  
sawamura-saaaaan?  
did you really block me….

**Me** (12:00PM)  
No, but the day is still young. I’ll mull it over awhile longer.  
The bell rang. Bye.

**kuroo tetsurou** (12:01PM)  
i knew you couldn’t stay away for long.  
bye, sawamura-san.  
until next time.

Daichi gives one last glance at his phone before setting it to silent and stuffing it into his pocket right as the teacher walks into the room. It’s not his imagination, right? Though new, and though subtle, there’s definitely something akin to  _ familiarity _ that’s working its way between him and Kuroo —it lives in the way Kuroo teases, in the way Daichi shoots back retort after retort as if it’s only natural, and in the way Kuroo says  _ next time _ as easily as he does.

Well. Once upon a time they had been attached at the hip, Daichi supposes, so it’s not really that unbelievable that they would get along now even if it seems like many worlds have passed them by since. He wants to believe that Kuroo hasn’t really become a bad person at heart—that Kuroo must have had a valid reason for lying, but Daichi doesn’t really know where reality ends and where his empty hopes begin.

A stack of paper handouts is placed on his desk by the classmate sitting in front of him and it brings his head out from within the clouds as Daichi takes one and passes the rest back. He drags his eyes across the black ink on the paper in his hands and a weary sigh escapes his lips before he can stop himself.

“It’s time to start thinking seriously about your futures,” his teacher announces from the front of the room. A chorus of groans echo throughout the class that the teacher pointedly ignores as he continues speaking. “The career surveys are due by the end of the week. Now, turn your textbooks to page 246.”

The sound of his teacher’s voice droning on about polynomial functions fades into the background as Daichi studies the paper in front of him. What does he want to do for the future, anyway? Isn’t it expecting way too much to simply pass a bunch of 17 year olds a piece of paper and ask them to decide what they want to do for the rest of their lives?

It’s not like he hasn’t considered it at all — he likes math and science, and obviously he enjoys sports. Right now all Daichi knows is that he wants to go to nationals, and truly he believes that with this team, they can make it. But Daichi isn’t so naive to think that he has the skill to become a professional player. He doesn’t have the physical build or the mental capability —n othing that people are  _ born _ with, anyway. All that he has he’s worked for, one grueling training regimen after another until permanent bruises of varying hues painted his forearms and knees like rainbows on canvas.

You can’t get to the international court with hard work alone. It’s frustrating to admit, but Daichi knows he’s not meant for that stage.

He doesn’t know if that’s something he’d actually want to do, anyway. He loves volleyball from the bottom of his heart, but most of all he wants to stay present rather than waste his energy thinking of courts many years too far out of reach. His love for volleyball lives in the worn down court beneath his feet  _ now _ , in the team mates he has  _ now _ , and in the white number 1 emblazoned on his chest  _ now _ .

So then the question remains: what does he want to do?

Well, he has the rest of the week to find out, at least.

“What should we do?” Asahi frets, later on in the day as their trio walks the usual route home. “Am I the only one who hasn’t been able to make a decision at all?”

“Mm,” Daichi hums. He doesn’t bother to mention that Asahi is clenching the survey in his shaking hands so tightly that the paper is creasing. “No, I don’t really know either. I guess I’ll start researching some programs when I get home, but maybe something math oriented?”

The sun is setting now, glowing burnt orange as it slowly descends beyond the horizon. Really, it’s so cliche that they’re talking forlornly about their budding futures, the disappearing sunlight casting long shadows onto the pavement behind them with a creeping sense of finality. This entire scene might as well be set in some dated coming-of-age drama that his mom would watch on the television, her legs crossed under the coffee table while crunching on senbei. 

“Do you guys think you’ll stay in Sendai?” Asahi peers at Daichi and Suga curiously, and a brief pause hovers in the air around them. This is the first time any of them have brought up graduating and all that it insinuates —that their time to be together like this, to walk home every day as if it’s only natural things will stay this way forever, is running out.

Suga breaks the silence, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m leaving,” he says softly. “Probably.”

The wind blows, the sun sets, and Daichi swivels around, eyes wide.

“What?” He says, stunned. “Since when?”

Had he really been so preoccupied with everything else going on that he didn’t bother tuning in to his own best friend’s future plans? Guilt sinks like a rock into his stomach at the sight of Suga’s sheepish shrug, as if they could be talking about weather. As if he didn’t think it important enough to even mention it in passing before this.

“I think I want to go into healthcare,” Suga explains, eyes fixated on the asphalt underneath their feet. “There’s a good program in Tokyo for physiotherapy. It’ll be tough, but the guidance counsellor thinks that my grades are good enough, pending my score on the entrance exam.”

_ Tokyo _ .

It’s not far, not really, but it’s far enough.

“Oh.” For some reason  _ that’s _ what Daichi thinks to say first, rather than anything supportive or caring or at all indicative of his affection for his best friend. “I didn’t know.”

“Well yeah, because I didn’t tell you until just now.” The retort along with the cheeky smile Suga shoots at him is enough to relieve the tension despite Asahi looking like he might burst into tears at any given moment, and Daichi rolls his eyes before jabbing his elbow into Asahi’s side.

“Sheesh, don’t go crying on us just yet, Ace. There are still  _ tons  _ of things we have to achieve together before saying our goodbyes. Okay?”    
  
It’s true —they can’t lose sight of their goal. Make it to nationals, restore light to the fallen powerhouses of old, and then they can tackle  _ the future  _ and all the mystery it has to offer head on. 

“Besides, even if we’re apart, we won’t really be. This  _ is _ the 21st century after all! There are plenty of ways to keep in contact.” Suga laughs, slinging his arm around Asahi’s neck, and just like that the atmosphere returns to normal, three best friends who have been together every step of the way through their high school years. Change is blowing in with the wind, shifting the world on its axis ever so slightly, and for the first time Daichi is distinctly aware that by this time next year everything will be different. But until then, they’ll do things as they always have —head on, with their hearts on their sleeves, no matter the odds.

They go their separate ways at the intersection, smiles soft and fond when they wave goodbye. 

Daichi walks his usual route home—small pebbles crunch under his feet as he goes, hands in his pockets, wind blowing gently through his hair, and yet his mind is somewhere far beyond the clouds. 

Graduation.  Entrance exams. University.  _ The future _ .

He is acutely aware of his own stubbornness. Some would call it a character flaw, but  _ stubbornness _ could also be called  _ tenacity _ , or  _ perseverance _ , and Daichi appreciates the iron will he’s forged through the years. It just so happens that when he has his mind set on something, he’s rarely able to see anything else within his peripherals. Volleyball had taken up such a large part of his life that he’d neglected to consider what he wants to do  _ beyond _ all of this, and this lack of foresight is now coming back to bite him in the ass. He sighs irritably, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.

It’s hard when you’re young.

And then, right as he’s in the middle of wallowing in his destinationless future, his phone rings. The shrill sound makes him jump ever so slightly before he recognizes the source of the ringing, furrowing his brows while he digs his phone out of his pocket.

**_Incoming call: kuroo tetsurou_ **

The black text sits amidst a glaringly bright white screen and Daichi’s eyes widen as he comes to a stop in the middle of the road, staring at the vibrating device in his hands. Why on earth would Kuroo be calling him? What could Kuroo possibly want to talk about? Should he pick up?

Daichi frowns then, catching himself in the middle of his panic. What is wrong with him? Why  _ wouldn’t _ he pick up? What is it about Kuroo that manages to throw him off balance time and time again? 

With a surge of pride and impulsivity, he taps the green phone icon and brings his phone to his ear.

“H-hello?” He says, face flushing bright red and inwardly cursing himself for stuttering. 

Strangely, no answer comes. Daichi furrows his brows, pressing the phone closer to his ear in confusion. He thinks he can hear voices in the background, but he can’t be sure.

“Hello? Kuroo-san?” He says again, and suddenly he can hear Kuroo’s voice though the sound is tinny and muffled.

“ _ Lev! Tora! Stop making such a damn ruckus! _ ”

It’s an accidental dial, Daichi realizes, letting out an exasperated huff as he starts walking again, keeping his phone to his ear as he listens to Kuroo’s nagging on the other end. 

“ _ Kenma! At least watch where you’re going, you’re going to trip _ _ — _ ”

Despite himself and all the worries in his mind, Daichi finds himself smiling. The person on the phone sounds so incredibly different from the shy, reserved kid that Daichi knows he used to be, and no matter how much he tries to reason with it in his mind, two and two don’t seem to add up. If he just listens to the sound of Kuroo’s voice, deep, authoritative and unfamiliar to him, he can almost pretend like it’s another person instead of  _ Kuroo Tetsurou _ , long lost childhood friend, captain of Nekoma, rooster headed cat, provocation master. The person on the phone is perceptive, caring of his underclassmen, and obviously has endless patience despite the edge to his voice.

“Ku—roo-san,” Daichi drawls, wondering when Kuroo will notice that his phone is broadcasting all his activities to someone without his knowing. “Hello—o, Kuroo Tetsurou-san? Are you there?”

There’s some shuffling, and then what sounds suspiciously like someone muttering curses before a brief silence, and then Kuroo’s voice comes through clear as day.

“Shit. Hello? Sawamura-san?”

“Hello, glad to finally be noticed.” Daichi’s smiling again, grin widening as Kuroo sounds increasingly flustered upon being teased. “Sounds like your underclassmen are keeping you busy.”

“Ah, that is—” Kuroo begins to say, and Daichi can almost picture him running his fingers through his disaster of a hairstyle. “Sorry. I must have dialed you by accident.”

“It’s fine, really. I was just walking home.” 

Again, the same word comes to mind— _ strange _ . It’s  _ strange _ that he can be so upset at Kuroo, completely distrust him and still desperately want to know more about him no matter how much he wants to deny it. 

“How was your day?” Kuroo asks, his voice shaking around the edges, and Daichi has to stop himself from snorting because he can  _ hear _ the nerves in Kuroo’s voice—it’s such a clear betrayal of the image Kuroo obviously wants to portray. Daichi wonders what they’re doing, wonders how long they’ll play this sick game of theirs before one or both of them get tired of it and they inevitably leave each other behind once again. 

It feels awfully like they’re slow dancing in a burning room. Clearly there’s little hope for escape.

“We got our career surveys today,” Daichi says, and immediately a groan rings out from the other end.

“I know I’m the one that called you but I want to hang up now,” Kuroo whines. “Why would you remind me of the curse currently residing in my bag? I’ve been avoiding it like the plague for a  _ reason _ , Sawamura-san.”

“You shouldn’t run away from your problems, Kuroo-san. Sooner or later you’ll have to face reality.”

He isn’t sure whether he’s chiding Kuroo or himself, not when his own paper sits crumpled in his bag and painfully devoid of ink.

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t put  _ any _ thought into it,” Kuroo says, the sound of fabric rustling into the phone as if he’s adjusting his grip or switching the phone to his other ear. Daichi wonders where Kuroo is right now, what his face looks like when his voice dips into genuity like this, and if he’s trailing behind his team just so he can make idle chatter. “I’ll probably stay in the city. The best biology programs are all right here, anyway.”

“Hmm, biology huh,” Daichi hums thoughtfully, and suddenly he recalls all the questions he’d been mulling over in his chest for the past few weeks —the dissonance between  _ Kuroo _ and Tekkun, the confusion that turns his heart into a strange, jittery mess.  What is Kuroo’s fashion sense like? How does he take his coffee?  _ What is his favourite subject? _

Is it even worth finding out?

“Do you like science?” He asks then, hesitation be damned. The question comes out in a strange, hurried breath that Daichi cringes at —but if Kuroo notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Sure, don’t you? Isn’t it fascinating to learn all about the many mechanisms of life? The world is so  _ diverse _ , and biological systems display some of the most complex mathematical models known to man. Today we learned about mycorrhizal networks and my mind was  _ blown _ . Like these plants are interconnected by a system so intricate that it’s comparable to basic functioning of the neuronal network in a human brain! Crazy, Sawamura-san. Absolutely ludicrous. Don’t you think?” 

Okay, he things Daichi officially knows about Kuroo Tetsurou:

  1. He’s a little shit.
  2. Despite his appearance and whatever facade he tries to keep up, there’s no doubt that he’s a giant nerd.



He lets out a little huff of amusement as Kuroo goes on about all the many fascinations of fungi, which eventually branches into bryophytes, and Daichi can’t help but get a little nostalgic of the times when he and Tekkun would wake up early on Saturday mornings and watch the Discovery Channel together in their matching Penguin Warriors pajamas. He could almost smell his mom’s homemade cinnamon toast when he thinks about those soft mornings all that time ago, just two kids starstruck over the migration patterns of South American birds, swearing that they’d travel to the famous lookout point and see them with their very eyes someday. 

_ Together _ , they’d said.

“ —mura-san? Hello? ”

Daichi is shaken out of his thoughts and dumbly realizes that he’s already reached home. He doesn’t know how long he’d been standing outside his front door with his phone in hand, lost in old sceneries with the voice of a memory in his ear.

“Sorry,” Daichi says distantly, suddenly feeling like a weight is blooming in his chest. “What were you saying?”

“Sheesh, at least listen to someone when they’re talking.”

”I’ll admit, you lost me somewhere around ‘discovery of a possible fourth fungal symbiont’.”

The chuckle that echoes through the phone is a low rumble that Daichi doesn’t recognize. Familiar and unfamiliar — unfamiliar and then familiar again all at once. Every time Daichi thinks he gets a single step closer to understanding the newest version of Kuroo Tetsurou, he slips from Daichi’s grasp and appears again twice as far in the distance. Like a mirage, like a vision, like something that never really existed in the first place.

“I’m impressed you even got that far. If it were Yaku he’d have snapped at me to shut up before the word ‘mycorrhizal network’ even left my mouth.”

“Hmm,” Daichi hums, and suddenly all he wants to do is get off the phone right this minute. “Well, I’m home now so I gotta go.”

“Oh , okay.“ If Daichi didn’t know better, he’d think there was an edge of disappointment laced somewhere in Kuroo’s voice. “Yeah, I mean, this call was a butt dial to begin with, huh.”

“Mhm. Goodbye then, Kuroo-san.” He hates the honorific tagged formally onto a surname he never used to use like baggage, hates the seemingly insurmountable distance between Miyagi and Tokyo despite being a single train ride apart, hates hates  _ hates _ —

“Bye, Sawamura-san.”

He hates how Kuroo’s murmur tips somewhere close to the land of  _ fondness _ most of all, because Daichi knows better than anyone how quickly that warmth can turn to ice. There was a time when he used to believe that the sun itself was encapsulated within Tekkun’s eyes, aglow with blazing starfire that burned warm against Daichi’s skin.

Turns out, when the sun inevitably burns out, all that’s left is a deadly, freezing darkness in its wake.

Daichi unlocks the door and heads inside, toeing his shoes off before placing them neatly to one side.

“I’m home,” he calls, following the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the kitchen when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:32PM)  
by the way, how about a practice match next month?  
also what’s your favourite colour

_ It hasn’t changed since back then,  _ Daichi thinks forlornly. There is no way to tell whether Kuroo has forgotten such an easy detail or whether he’s just feigning ignorance.

**Me** (6:34PM)  
That’s a good idea, but it will have to be the end of next month to avoid our midterm testing.  
It’s yellow.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:34PM)  
i’ll report back to nekomata-sensei and we can solidify the dates soon.

**kuroo tetsurou** (6:37PM)  
yellow like mustard?

**Me** (6:37AM)  
No.

Daichi’s eyes go half-lidded and he briefly wonders if this counts as a point to his loss in this ridiculous game-war-pretense of theirs, but all the same, just this once he resigns to give in to it. Maybe it’s masochistic to think of the possibility that remnants of the past might still exist, whispers hidden in the wind that melt away before you’re able to fully grasp it in your hands.  _ Tekkun  _ would have known the meaning behind Daichi’s words. As things stand right now, Daichi doesn’t know if Kuroo will. He has to let it go.

Despite knowing this, despite it all, he sends the text anyway.

**Me** (6:39PM)  
Yellow like sunshine.

The screen goes black as he locks it, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Hey mom? Do you remember that cinnamon toast you used to make…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i am back and i've brought more Dumbass Kuroo Shenanigans!! enjoy!!!
> 
> PS: bonus points to anyone who can identify the reference @ the horror movie that traumatized kuroo as a child. (true story but it's 7 year old emily)  
> PPS: kuroo's excited rambling about fungi/bryophytes is pretty much copied verbatim from my chat w andy bc they're a giant nerd. jury's out.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://amaanogawa.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/amaanogawa_)


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